Every Inch a Prince
by Pickles
Summary: Rating for language only. A little introspective into Vejiita's thoughts.


I suppose there is some mild shounen ai implied here, though it is unintentional.  
If you have a problem with that, go away and may God have mercy on your homophobic soul.  
B/V fans, there isn't really much here for you either. Unless you can handle some mild  
Bulma bashing coming from Vejiita, you might as well go away too. And here's my 'special'  
warning that I never had to use until lately. The two characters I am using are Goku  
(even though he gets called Kakarot instead) and Vejiita. If you have problems with that,  
go away and do not flame me just because I have them in here. Got it? If that one  
'special person' is reading this, he will know exactly what I am talking about.  
  
This is a piece that I wrote for a little introspective on our favorite Prince's  
character. I mean, sure, I knew how he acted and reacted, but I didn't know the way he  
thought. So now I do, and, well, I might have to do a follow-up piece on this because I  
want to know about this dark past he refers to. I also want to know what on Earth  
possessed Goku to ask Vejiita to go camping with him. Kuso. It seems that whenever I  
write something to get some answers, I only end up with more questions.  
  
Now I feel like there's something halfway important I'm forgetting here... Oh yes.  
Disclaimers. Of course. What else would it be? *grumbles* damned copywrights.....  
  
All standard disclaimers apply. I made no profit off of writing this. I do not  
own DragonBallZ, its characters or its trademarks. They belong to Funimation, Akira  
Toriyama, Pioneer, etc. There's no point in suing, I don't have any money anyway.  
  
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Every Inch a Prince  
  
  
  
  
By Mako-chan the 384th  
  
  
  
  
I scowl when I hear the buzzer. Someone wants my attention. Most likely it is that  
feeble human woman who dares call herself my mate. Ha. She is merely fertile ground for my  
seed to spill on. After all, as a ruler of a race - even a dying out one - I must have my  
heirs. Since it is only she, I ignore it, and conitnue my shadowboxing, a feat made far less  
easy by the fact that I am in six hundred times gravity.  
  
My scowl deepens as it buzzes again, and this time does not stop. I am a prince of  
warriors, a warrior of the mind as well as the body, and yet not even I can ignore such a  
damned persistent noise.  
  
"I'll be there in a minute!" I shout at the door. "Just stop buzzing that fucking  
buzzer!" Sighing, I stop shadowboxing as the buzzer dies. I grab a towel, wiping the sweat  
off my body as best I can, and assume my usual facial expression. For I know I must always  
look every inch a prince,even if I must do it wearing as little as I am now - a pair of black  
boxer briefs. Not bothering to turn off the machine that is causing me to weigh over thirteen  
thousand pounds, I step to the door and open it. Heh. Maybe if I am lucky, that damnable  
woman will walk in and I will get to see her disentegrate like that one earth myth. A vampire,  
I think.  
  
However, it is not a woman, but a man who steps through the door. He takes the  
gravitational transition with ease. His wild black hair flattens to his neck, however. This is  
odd, and I feel the need to laugh. However, in front of this one, expecially, I must play the  
ruler, and so I smirk instead. "Interesting hair, Kakarot," I tell him.  
  
He grins, that infuriating wide grin he has that should be studied in an academy  
somewhere (as it is physically impossible), and closes his live coal black eyes. Live coal,  
because they dance and burn into you the way a burning ember would. "Yeah, it happens in over  
two hundred gravity," is his reply.  
  
My smirk disappears, to be replaced with my normal cold almost-scowl. "What do you  
want, Kakarot?" I ask him, my arms folded across my chest. I would have stopped calling him  
that long ago, but the name, I think, is accurate, for you rarely see him wear any color but  
orange.  
  
He doesn't drop his idiotic grin, however. He merely opens his eyes, eyes so different  
from my own. His are that live, burning, dancing black. My own are black as well, but the are  
dull, lifeless. They have been for a long time. That is why I must hid behind this facade of  
ruler, to hide why my eyes are dead, not happy, laughing things like his.  
  
"Well," he says to me happily, "I was wondering if you'd like to go camping with me."  
  
I am surprised, to say the least. Why does he want my company? I am always cold to him,  
icy, because I maintain my outer face. I hide it well behind my frown, and throw a reversed  
thought at him.  
  
"Why on this pitiful little planet would I want to go camping-" I spit it out- "with  
you?"  
  
In truth, this coldness I show him is the last thing I want. He is warm, and gentle, and  
kind, and forgiving, and so unbelievably strong in that. He is most likely the only person I  
would wish to drop this mask for, aside from perhaps my son. I know he would never hurt me. He  
doesn't know how. This man with the live black eyes does not know the meaning of the word hurt.  
Not as I have experienced it.  
  
He stops, and purses his lips, looking at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his back. He  
is seriously pondering my question, amassing what little knowledge he can. He is not intelligent,  
and contrary to the lie I let people think, I do not mind. One such as he does not think. One  
such as he feels.  
  
"Because it'll be fun," he answers finally, grinning at me again.  
  
I sigh. Of course I could not expect a more logical answer than that from him. "Will  
there be sparring?" I ask. The world thinks this is the only thing I care for. I let them think  
that. It gives me more to hide behind.  
  
His grin fades a bit. "If you want, " he offers, and I can sense that though that is not  
what he came for, he is somewhat willing to work it into his plans.  
  
I grunt the, stepping back into a defensive positions, ready to continue my  
shadowboxing. "I suppose I shall," I answer, and he grins the most anatomically impossible grin  
yet.  
  
"Yay!" he yells, dancing around. "I get to go camoing with Vejiita!"  
  
His joy is infectious, I must admit. It is hard for me to accept that someone could be  
that happy about my presence. I never show anything but a cold face. However, the fact that  
someone can actually do this puts a crack in my wall of ice that I keep around myself and my  
past.  
  
In truth, I want no one, not even this live-eyed man, to know of my past. No - especially  
not him. My story is like my eyes. Painful to relive, painfull to tell, painful to hear. And I do  
not want this man's unbreakable - or seemingly so - innocence to shatter because he heard it.  
This is why I hold my mask.  
  
This is why I am, and forever will be, every inch a prince. 


End file.
